We're taking a bit of a breather while the world rearranges its underpants. Meanwhile, the other blog is here.

Friday, December 18, 2009

The love of an oak tree's kiss

This is Frog's story, not mine, but it's too delicious not to share...

A few years back, Frog lived on a main shopping street and was used to the usual stuff that happens when your front door's available to passing drunks. He'd often come downstairs to find that someone will have had a fit of guilty conscience and let go of the cutlery they'd stolen from the Italian restaurant by posting it through his letter box. Or chip papers. Or half a pizza...

One day he came downstairs to find a huge plank of wood. He sat on the stairs and stared at it for some time.

How in God's name did anybody post that through the letter box?

His wife came downstairs, looked at him, shook her head and said:
"You don't remember do you?"

He'd gone on the Christmas lash with his family and on the way home decided that they needed the wood for a new gate.


Pat said...

Aren't men lucky to have wives to put them straight?
You're supposed to nod your head violently.

Kevin Musgrove said...

In his state, Pat, nodding wouldn't have been wise.